“Innes is with me!” vociferated Oldbuck. “Riston has no doubt!” shouted the Baronet. “Truly, gentlemen,” said Lovel, “before you muster your forces and overwhelm me with authorities, I should like to know the word in dispute.” “Benval” said both the disputants at once. “Which signifies caput valli,” said Sir Arthur. “The head of the wall,” echoed Oldbuck. There was a deep pause.--“It is rather a narrow foundation to build a hypothesis upon,” observed the arbiter. “Not a whit, not a whit,” said Oldbuck; “men fight best in a narrow ring--an inch is as good as a mile for a home-thrust.” “It is decidedly Celtic,” said the Baronet; “every hill in the Highlands begins with Ben.” “But what say you to Val, Sir Arthur; is it not decidedly the Saxon wall?” “It is the Roman vallum,” said Sir Arthur;--“the Picts borrowed that part of the word.” “No such thing; if they borrowed anything, it must have been your Ben, which they might have from the neighbouring Britons of Strath Cluyd.” “The Piks, or Picts,” said Lovel, “must have been singularly poor in dialect, since, in the only remaining word of their vocabulary, and that consisting only of two syllables, they have been confessedly obliged to borrow one of them from another language; and, methinks, gentlemen, with submission, the controversy is not unlike that which the two knights fought, concerning the shield that had one side white and the other black. Each of you claim one-half of the word, and seem to resign the other. But what strikes me most, is the poverty of the language which has left such slight vestiges behind it.” “You are in an error,” said Sir Arthur; “it was a copious language, and they were a great and powerful people; built two steeples--one at Brechin, one at Abernethy. The Pictish maidens of the blood-royal were kept in Edinburgh Castle, thence called Castrum Puellarum.” “A childish legend,” said Oldbuck, “invented to give consequence to trumpery womankind. It was called the Maiden Castle, quasi lucus a non lucendo, because it resisted every attack, and women never do.” “There is a list of the Pictish kings,” persisted Sir Arthur, “well authenticated from Crentheminachcryme (the date of whose reign is somewhat uncertain) down to Drusterstone, whose death concluded their dynasty. Half of them have the Celtic patronymic Mac prefixed--Mac, id est filius;--what do you say to that, Mr. Oldbuck? There is Drust Macmorachin, Trynel Maclachlin (first of that ancient clan, as it may be judged), and Gormach Macdonald, Alpin Macmetegus, Drust Mactallargam” (here he was interrupted by a fit of coughing)--“ugh, ugh, ugh--Golarge Macchan--ugh, ugh--Macchanan--ugh--Macchananail, Kenneth--ugh--ugh-- Macferedith, Eachan Macfungus--and twenty more, decidedly Celtic names, which I could repeat, if this damned cough would let me.”